


Cherry, Strawberry

by draculard



Category: Heathers (1988)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's JD and it's not really important to this story, Really this is quite soft despite the hard tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 01:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20556191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Martha's lips taste like cheap strawberry gloss, the kind that leaves stains all over Veronica's mouth when they kiss.





	Cherry, Strawberry

“I’m not cynical,” Martha says.

It doesn’t seem like a lie; she won’t watch horror movies with Veronica on prom night. She wants to watch anything else instead  — romantic comedies, musicals.

“Victor/Victoria,” she suggests, and after everything that’s happened, Veronica is willing to set aside her VHS collection of slashers and Universal Monsters.

“Victor/Victoria,” she agrees. 

* * *

They kiss for the first time on the couch in Veronica’s basement. The material it’s made of is old and coarse; it smells like years of stale smoke and dropped cigarettes. _ _

_ Like J.D., _ Veronica thinks, wrinkling her nose.  _ After he blew up.  _ She’s not sure if this thought amuses her or turns her off.

But Martha is nothing like J.D., of course. Her weight over Veronica is soft and warm, not oppressive, not bony enough to hurt. Her lips are soft, too. They taste like strawberry lip balm, the cheap kind from the store  — the kind that rubs off on Veronica’s lips when they kiss.

It’s nice to taste something other than alcohol and convenience store food for a change.

* * *

They play a what-if game while the movie plays, while everyone else is dancing. The glow from the TV screen leaves static on Martha’s face.

“What if I’d died?” Martha asks, lips trembling. “When I walked into traffic?”

Veronica knows what she’s really asking:  _ What if all I ever knew was the way people stared at me in the halls? What if all I could think about was still the mocking laughter of teenage boys? What if I never learned to trust somebody? What if I never smiled at someone and watched them smile back? _

“If you’d died,” says Veronica logically, passing her cherry Coke to Martha, “you’d never hang out with me. And then I’d have no friends.”

Martha scoffs. She takes a drink, leaving a smear of lip gloss on the can. “You’ve always had friends,” she says. Veronica ignores her.

“What if,” she says instead, staring up at the ceiling, at the fan rotating slowly above their heads, “you walked into my bedroom and found me hanging there, like I’d killed myself?”

All she hears in reply is the static of the TV, the muted dialogue, the whishing of the fan. She listens as Martha’s hand tightens on the Coke can, crunching the aluminum.

“You won’t kill yourself,” Martha says.

Before Veronica can answer, Martha has grabbed her hand and kissed her  — fiercely, warmly, possessively, kindly. All at once.

And Veronica’s answer changes.

“Of course not,” she says.


End file.
